Okay. Christmas. Merry. Jolly. Fa la la la la la la la la la……
It’s Christmas week in San Bernardino, which means that I am in court a lot. For a family law lawyer, Christmas means lots of angst with the clients. That, and an ex-girlfriend who drove to San Diego in a rental car, got a flat, and called me thinking I was going to drive 6 hours round trip to fix the flat. I told her to call the rental car agency’s roadside assistance. Not sure why she didn’t think of that.
When the boy was young, Christmas was a hectic, magical time. I loved buying toys with a vicarious thrill. Trucks. Toy soldiers. Baseball gloves. Loved it all.
These days, the boy lives in Michigan with his very pregnant wife. I sent him and his lovely wife socks. Bombas, the best socks in the world. Uniformly, EVERYONE to whom I sent Bombas socks this year loved them. At $80 a box, they’d better.
My boy, BTW, sent me a pair of slipper socks (not Bombas) that I instantly fell in love with. I wear them all night, even to bed. I think they are the best gift I’ve received in years. You are welcome to try to beat that, my friend.
Still, lovely as the season is, it palls when you don’t have a noisy child in the house. And during the Covid-19 shutdown here in California, you can’t even stroll through the Christmastide and soak up the holiday fumes.
Next year we will celebrate like never before. Till then, my friend, consider sending socks. You’ll be surprised how much people love them.
CORRECTIONS
Recent blog posts require some explaining. So here goes.
When I talked about my short story making it to the last cut, only to be cut, the editor wrote me back (he actually read the blog!) and pointed out that I should be proud that my story beat 449 other stories to make that cut. Well, I guess when you look at it like that. AS I said in the blog, every editor is different. When they email you to tell you that your story was damned good and nearly made it, it can be cause for celebration. As in, I’m getting closer to getting another story published.
I agree. But still, I have been on the edge without making the cut about 20 times in the last two years. I suppose I am getting ornery.
Second, in regard to Jane Cleland, the mystery writer whom I called my “somewhat mentor” (explaining that she chose my story for the Black Orchid Novella Award and that I have been attending her on-line writing seminars, I got an email from Jane (she actually read the blog!) explaining that she wasn’t really my mentor and that she didn’t really choose my story for BONA. She said the stories are farmed out to Wolfe Pack volunteers, then the best of them are forwarded to a committee who chooses the winner. She just runs the contest.
Well, Okay. I guess Mrs. Cleland is not my “somewhat mentor” but she is still a good writer and has lots of good advice. Her latest novel is Hidden Treasure. I’m waiting for my signed copy to arrive in the mail. I asked her to sign it “To Mark, at the beginning of a glittering career.” She wrote to the publisher that I’m a joker.
I am. I’m a Christmas joker. On Dasher, on Dancer, on the rest of you mangy beasts. We’ve got Christmas cheer to deliver.
Mark Bruce, Writer 